


Bring Me Home

by brokenemotions



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Assassin John, BAMF John, Johnlock - Freeform, Moriarty is Alive, Multi, Sherlock - Freeform, Violence, painlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 16:54:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2075730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenemotions/pseuds/brokenemotions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moriarty threatens to kill John Watson’s new born baby if he doesn’t become one of his assassins. John has no choice and leaves London for three years, training and becoming one of the most feared assassins in the United States. The death’s of three rich business men in Central London get Sherlock’s attention, John Hamish Watson, his best friend, is back. Sherlock Holmes is afraid he’s next on John’s kill list. Or maybe John has a plan to save the only friend he’s ever had even if it means risking his life and his now three year old daughter’s.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bring Me Home

**Author's Note:**

> I had a dream about John killing someone and becoming Sherlock's enemy, kinda how this story came about. It's not brit-picked, (sorry, I tried my best though.) I had thoughts about writing this for so long. (I'm sure someone else has.) But I'm just happy I finally started it. (Cause I honestly would love to see this happen in the show, or something LIKE this happen.) I do or I'm going to add a little more detail into everyone's relationship in the future, which is why I gave it a johnlock tag. Just warning everyone. It may seem normal now, but I'm gonna wind up fucking with it in later chapters. I really hope you enjoy this very small chapter. xD

**  
John Watson’s eyes stare straight ahead. Straight at the man who ruined his life despite how many times his best friend tried to prevent that from happening. It’s official now, John Watson’s life is ruined. It’ll never be the same again, IF he somehow survives this.

John grips his 92FS tight in his palm, the gun has been placed in his hand three years ago, he’s never let go of it since then. Three years attached to the Beretta like it was his best friend. His new best friend is a gun, how telling. If only the gun could save him the way Sherlock has saved him in the past. If only he could lift it and just pull the trigger and end this all.

‘If only it was that easy.’

But no, John knows if he lifts his gun, Moran would lift his.

Sebastian Moran, the man that has currently planted his feet just behind John Watson. 

The man who does all of Jim Moriarty’s dirty work.

The man who’s trained Dr. Watson for a year to become another one of Moriarty’s killers.

“This is stupid! There’s no reason for us to fight!” The voice is high pitched over the waves crashing around them, over the rain falling down on all three of them. The voice comes from a girl dressed in black. An American girl, another one of Moriarty’s trained assassins.  
Juliana Kensway.

Juli was assigned as John Watson’s partner. They trained together and now worked together. Even though Juliana freely became an assassin for the man’s enemy, John seemed to get along with her well and she seemed to really enjoy John’s company. Besides her love for assassinating people, she’s a sweet girl. It was only a week ago that Juli found out about John Watson’s situation. 

How he was forced into becoming one of Moriarty’s assassins.

The boat sways to the right, getting hit by a huge wave that soaks the three of them even further. John finally steps out of his head to respond to Juli. 

“There are a million reasons for me to fight this man. I haven’t gotten the balls to do it until now,” John shouts, his stare never leaving Moriarty’s. 

Moriarty as usual has a huge grin on his face, his hands in his pockets, looking smug like he knows it all. 

“What are you going to do, Watson? Shoot me? Go ahead.” Moriarty spreads his arms out, giving himself up completely. 

John thinks again as the lightning flashes around them, ‘if only it were that easy.’

The thunder comes soon after.

“No? Oh…Well…That’s too bad, I’m kind of disappointed in you, Johnny. Now how about you go back to your bunk and be a good boy until we arrive in London?” Moriarty puts his hands down, his smile fading. 

Obviously this was getting tedious to the man. Three years. He thought John Watson was rid of hope by now.

One mention of London and years of work is just thrown out the window. 

“I’m actually curious as to what you have in mind,” Moriarty mocks. More thunder surrounds them. 

John doesn’t have any plan, nothing at all. The only thing he can think of is what’s going to happen when they get to London. Lightning lights the dark sea, John closes his eyes and drops his head.

“Very, very disappointed Johnny,” Moriarty motions with his head to Sebastian to follow him back to the captain’s deck. “I’ll see you all in the morning.” 

Below deck, John lays in his rock hard bed, staring at the dark bunk above him. Juliana must be fast asleep by now. It’s way too difficult for the man to even shut his eyes, let alone fall asleep. If he was Sherlock he’d be able to find a way out of this. ‘Oh, Sherlock…I miss you so much…’ 

No matter how many times John thinks of a plan in they never work out.

Killing Moriarty in his sleep? Yeah, sure, try getting past Sebastian Moran.

Take out Moran first, kill Moriarty in his sleep.

That plan seems the most logical at the moment. There are a few road blocks though. Killing Moran seems so easy when you say it. Looking at the facts you know that killing him isn’t as easy as it seems. Moran is one of the best shots John Watson has seen in his life time. Even in his time in Afghanistan he never came across someone so skilled.

John has somewhat of an ego to him though, ‘I’m not that bad myself. I could take him.’ Those two years in the States are enough to prove his skills. How many innocent people did he shoot dead with one silenced sniper rifle? Too many. 

Not one was ever traced to Moriarty or even John Watson himself. Not one has even ONE clue as to who it might be. 

In London though it’d be a different story, one dead man, one glance from Sherlock Holmes and he’ll know exactly who did it. ‘Am I that good? Would even Sherlock not know who did it?’ John sits up as he thinks this. For some reason that thought sends a little pride through John. The man’s eyes look at the ground as thunder rattles the cabin. ‘Why in the world am I proud of that?’ John gulps the lump in his throat. He choices to ignore that inner demon then stands and heads for the stairs.

It’s dark on the deck besides the small light hanging above the top deck window. The rain has slowed down, but the lightning hasn’t. Watson’s eyes move up to the top deck where Moriarty rests. 

John takes the steps slowly. Every step he takes he has to reinforce himself, keep telling himself if he doesn’t do this, Sherlock will die. Cause Moriarty knows. He’s figured it out. If John Watson had to choose between his baby daughter and Sherlock, John would most surely pick his daughter. This is a decision even Sherlock would want John to make. Killing Moran to get to Jim Moriarty is the only way. It’s the only clearing…The only good John has left in himself.

The man reaches for the knob and slowly turns it. Sure enough when the door is pushed open there’s Moran standing in front of John with his pistol pointed perfectly at John’s head. Moran tilts his head then nods it telling Watson in his own silent way to go down the stairs and not make one bit of noise. 

Once on the deck, Moran puts his arm down, noticing that John doesn’t even have his drawn.

“You were coming to see me,” Moran’s voice is deep and soft, “what do you want?”

“A duel,” John states clearly.

Moran moves his head back, a smirk crawls across his face. 

After three years the only thing John could ever find out about Moran was his unnatural obsession with violence. He’d never turn down a duel, never turn down a chance to make someone suffer. That’s what John Watson is in Moran’s eyes right now, a challenge. He’d break Moriarty’s rules for this.

Sebastian’s grip on his gun gets tighter. He’s thinking. He must have been ordered to keep John Watson alive and unharmed. The assassin licks his lips then scratches his head with his gun.

“You honestly think you have even a SMALL chance of winning against me?” Moran asks.

“I do.”

Moran scuffs but he notices John’s solid smile, sure of himself. 

“No guns. You can’t kill me,” John explains, “that should give me enough of a handicap for me.”

“Knifes?”

John smiles slightly and nods, “knifes, fists, anything but a gun.” The man takes out his 92FS and chucks it off the boat. Sebastian’s face goes from bored to extremely entertained within two seconds. He also chucks his gun into the dark sea. His open mouth smirk gives John the chills. The man is completely turned on by this. Like an animal ready to pounce on his prey and devour him.

John can feel his heart beat in his throat now, he’s terrified. He’s been through pain before, but nothing like what’s coming at him in a couple of seconds. 

‘Just get Moran on the ground, slit his throat. It can’t be that hard. Then you can go home to Sherlock and hold your baby girl for the first time,’ the thought gives John a burst of hope and courage. ‘I’m going to win this. I HAVE to win this.’

Moran is going to make the first move. He looks like he’s going to attack any minute. John stands his ground, planting his combat boots firmly to the ground and balling his hands into fists.

Moran cracks his neck then as a flash of lightning lights the sea, dashes towards John Watson with the look of hunger in his eyes.

***

“The crying! Stop with the crying! It’s not going to get you anywhere you should know better by now!” Sherlock shouts from the kitchen table, staring into his microscope. 

A little baby sits on the floor in the living room, holding a block in her hands, she stops crying only for a minute to stare at Sherlock, wondering why in the world he’s yelling at her. What has she done wrong? 

“OH- Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson walks up the stairs into the living room, picking the little baby girl up to comfort her. “You’re not supposed to yell at her! There, there, Sheryl!” Hudson sooths and bounces Sheryl in her arms. Sherlock only glances at them both then goes back to his experiment.

“I don’t have time to baby sit.”

“Then why in the world did you tell Mary you could!?” Hudson sets Sheryl down on the red armchair.

“Because I made a vow, I plan to keep that vow,” Sherlock admits. Hudson shakes her head.

“Well, I’ll keep an eye on her for now,” the woman sits on Sherlock’s armchair and hands Sheryl another block, “she’s only three! She can wander off and fall down the stairs.”

“I knew all the elements of the periodic table at the age of three,” Sherlock boasts.

“I highly doubt that.”

“Believe what you want.”

Sherlock hated everything about Sheryl, her name, the way she looked almost identical to John Watson. A constant reminder that she’s the reason John has been gone for three years, going through God knows what. Sherlock’s grip tightens on the microscope. The fact that he can’t be there to protect John from whatever pain he’s going through is enough to drive Sherlock mad. 

The man could only wait until John finally comes back to London. Would he be able to meet John face to face before John pulled the trigger? Or will Moriarty have John completely bent to his will? Sherlock’s turquoise eyes look away from the microscope.

D.I. Greg Lestrade storms in through the door. The man is greeted by Mrs. Hudson, “hello dear! What brings you here?”

Lestrade does a double take when he sees Sheryl, he hasn’t seen the child since she was born at the hospital. “I’m here to see Sherlock, where is he?”

Sherlock is already in the door of the kitchen sliding his coat on.

“Sherlock…You’ve heard?” 

“No, but judging by your stride and how quickly you ran the stairs, you’ve got important news,” Sherlock deduced. 

The detective nods his head, “a death, a man named Hugh Young, you heard of him?”

“Yes, he’s a business man, he owns his own company, a million air,” Sherlock explains heading toward the stairs. Lestrade follows.

“Sherlock! Wait!” Lestrade calls after the man.

‘John, I’m coming, I’ll save you.’

 

To be continued…


End file.
